


roughspun and silk

by Poose, seven_hells (Poose)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Hate Sex, One Shot, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/seven_hells





	roughspun and silk

The red of her hair was Arbor red, blood red, not the kissed by fire of his Ygritte. Between her legs was bare, whether by magic or blade he could not have said, and she tasted of silk, not furs.

"The Wall is under my command," he said, as she cocked her head to look at him. "The King-Beyond-the-Wall is not yours to take. He belongs to the Night's Watch."

"There are other ways," she began, stepping close to him. The swish of her skirts annoyed him.

"No," he said, "It is not your place."

"Stannis is your king," she said, "Or have you forgotten?"

Jon turned on his heel to face her -- a smug smile on her lips, infuriating him to the point of wanting to strike her, hit her across her smirking face. It was a thing he would never dare do -- so Jon did not quite understand how he reached for her nonetheless.

 _Sorcery,_ he thought, as her lips found his own, _some evil trick of her Lord of Light, damn her_ but his thoughts went that way, his mind screamed _stop_ but his body felt her heat. The warmth of a woman, better than any wolfskin or fur cloak -- and his hands found her slim waist.

Her tongue laved over his ear, down the side of his face, and she pulled him atop her -- no, or did he push her? It was all a confusion, he could not see where the flesh of her body met that of his own.

A tangle of red silk and black roughspun met on the table, slipping to the floor, and Jon stood at his full height as her pale legs wrapped around him. The ruby at her throat glinted, in tandem with her quickening breath, and he encircled her neck with his hand. She gasped and bucked her hips against him. Jon held her there, _held her ther_ e, down, watched her writhe and gulp for air.

"Is this the way?" he said, insentient of what he was even saying. "Did you see this in your flames?"

Her mouth opened and closed; the pulse at her throat could have been his heartbeat or hers, the giant ruby come to life, or her choking under his grip -- it seemed to be all this and more, all this plus the howl of wolves in the long winters night and the cold drip of water off the Wall; the white-blue part of a fire stoked with old oak, the smoky smudge of dried peat, and the hot summer sun reflected off a hundred thousand thousand grains of sand in distant Asshai.

A shutter slammed open and the torches spluttered as he collapsed forward onto her, covered in cold sweat.

Melisandre dressed first, leaving the Lord Commander to his fire.

"We will discuss it tomorrow," she said. "I am sure you will see sense after you have rested."

Jon Snow did not answer her.


End file.
